


greener. they said the grass was greener

by Princex_N



Category: Marble Hornets
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Permanent Injury, Season/Series 03, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:29:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25493134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princex_N/pseuds/Princex_N
Summary: Wings aren't enough to save him.
Relationships: Alex Kralie & Brian Thomas, Brian & Timothy "Tim" W.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	greener. they said the grass was greener

**Author's Note:**

> title is from [this artist's work](https://thedbldee.tumblr.com/tagged/not+art)

Brian knows that it was hopeless. It was always hopeless. Always going to be. 

He'd known, but apparently even all that's happened to him wasn't enough to stop him from hoping, as pointless as it may have been. 

He's an idiot, he knows this now, but at least he'd had the foresight to never _really_ plan to make it out of this alive. At least there's no disappointment to be had there (even if this isn't exactly how Brian had been thinking it would end. _Lead me to you, lead me to death._ Brian had always figured he'd get taken out with Alex. He never figured Tim would be on the other side of it instead.) 

Even after all that has happened, there's still instinct driving him. Brian is more animal than human these days, but he should have known better than to rely on instincts like these, ones he hasn't been able to rely on in years. Wings twitching under the thin fabric of the sweatshirt, Brian runs to the window ledge and clambers onto the other side of it because some stupid bird part of him still believes that there may be a chance of getting out this way, still thinks something has managed to change since that day. 

He's an idiot. He should know better by now. 

(Brian can't help but wonder, there had been nothing but rage and anger and terror and _hatred_ and a complete and utter bewilderment even still, because he can't help but wonder _why_. Brian doesn't know, but he can't _stand_ it, can't bear the not knowing when it is his purpose to know. There was nothing Brian wanted over these years more than answers, not even the chance to even the scales had come close to the wanting. He wanted to know _why_ , and some part of him is stained bitter knowing he'll never get a chance to find out.) 

He glances back, wonders if there's time to take back his decision and find somewhere else to go, but Tim is barreling around the corner, heavy wrench in hand, black wings spread wide, and Brian doesn't know what will happen when he's caught. Once upon a time, Brian had trusted Tim with almost everything, but Tim's narrowed eyes and enraged snarl don't inspire any old hope. 

Things didn't go as planned, and Jay got shot, and it's clear who Tim lays his loyalty with these days. Tim isn't a killer, Brian doesn't think, but _everyone_ can be pushed too far, and Brian might not be the one who pulled the trigger, but he's an easy enough puppeteer to pin the blame on, isn't he? 

Brian had never really planned to make it out of this alive. He can't imagine what the fuck he'd do with himself if he had somehow managed it. The decision isn't made, he still doesn't know which way would be worse, but Tim lunges forward on unsteady feet and some small _stupid_ part of Brian's brain still thinks it knows what it's doing, and he startles backwards, grip on the ledge faltering and he's falling before he ever gets a chance to decide if he'd rather die at Tim's enraged hands instead. 

It's probably for the best, really. If Tim really _doesn't_ remember who he is under the hood, it's probably not fair to let him make a choice like this without all the facts. 

(But since when has Brian cared about _fair?)_

His wings glare out on instinct, tearing through the fabric of the hoodie he's been hiding them under for years, feathers broken and ruffled and dirty. They'd always speculated that he hid his wings to keep them from seeing, to hide him from recognition, but it never seemed to cross their minds that he had been hiding them from himself too. He doesn't remember the last time he groomed them, he doesn't even remember the last time he'd _looked_ at them. He hadn't wanted to. 

It was stupid, probably, refusing to take care of them probably hadn't done them any favors, but it had seemed fitting in a way, even if Brian can't quite remember how it used to make sense. The ragged pain of broken feathers and skin and the stench of infection and dirt had always seemed justified. The awakened ache of broken and impacted feathers throb sharp as they flail, trying to right him in the air and keep his body from hitting the ground. 

But there's no point. Brian hasn't been able to fly since they broke, and now is no exception. 

(He still doesn't know _why_ , and the uncertainty tears at him. Had Alex known what he had done? Had it been an accident? Brian had been so worried, terrified half out of his mind that something had happened to his friend, and he had run as fast as he could manage through old broken hallways with the camera in hand because Alex would have cared if he had left it behind. He had been worried, but he had hardly had any time to process anything before _that thing_ had shown up.)

(Sometimes Brian wonders if it was even Alex in the first place, but no, he's almost positive. He remembers the heady crack of it beneath his body and the sight of Alex's face above his, even if his head had been so scrambled that he hadn't even known where to begin with crying out from the pain. Had Alex known? Had he noticed? Brian doesn't know. He doesn't know how long he had been there either, lost and alone and suffering through the ache of his body breaking and crumbling in that thing's presence, but by the time he had found himself back in the real world the doctors had said there was nothing to be done. Regardless of any intent, Brian's wings would never have been like this if Alex hadn't chosen this road to begin with.) 

It's hard to say which part of Brian hits the cement first, this time, but the snap of bone beneath his body is familiar in a way he wishes it wasn't. Through the thick ringing of his skull he can barely see the terror and confusion on Tim's face above him, looking down at where Brian lays, probably wondering why he hadn't flown, hadn't saved himself. 

Brian had never really planned to make it out of this alive. 

There's an overwhelming sort of heat under Brian's skin, a dazed and distant strung out quality to his thoughts, but he hears the stumbling noise of Tim's footsteps as he clatters down the stairs. Brian is already aware of the fact that it's going to be too late - not that he knows if Tim would bother to try and help him at this point. What _does_ Tim think, Brian wonders, feeling the pain radiating out of the shards of his bones and the slow seep of blood pooling beneath him. Is he relieved? Guilty? Triumphant? 

Just another thing to add to the list of things Brian will never figure out, he supposes, pain or blood loss or some other nameless _thing_ always in the corner turning his vision a nauseating black before Tim ever even gets close enough for him to see. Distantly, he feels Tim rustle through his pockets, the hesitation over the fabric of his mask, the curl of fingers smoothing through his disgusting wing in a way that is almost comforting. 

A feather rubbed cautiously between two fingers, soothing, curious, recognized. 

A yelp, fleeing footsteps, the shadow of something tall and static and painful leaning over his broken bleeding body. 

Distantly, Brian wonders if he'll be able to fly again, and closes his eyes. 

**Author's Note:**

> Brian is a Shrike, Tim is a Raven
> 
> [my tumblr](http://www.princex-n.tumblr.com)


End file.
